As there was no time to be lost, he gave orders to destroy the fort utterly. The wounded were carefully removed, and the slain MacGregors he sent by a boat for interment on Inchcailloch, beside the ruined church, which had been disused since 1621.
Among these was Oina, whom her husband had rolled in his plaid, as the only shroud and coffin he had time to procure her.
The whole of the plunder found in the barracks and stores—arms, powder, clothing, food, and money—Rob Roy, with his characteristic generosity, gave to his poor and faithful followers, which completely consoled them for many a stab, slash, and bruise received in the attack.
To himself he reserved only the captured standard and a little child—a boy of about three years of age—who was found asleep peacefully in his bed amid all the horrid din and hurly-burly of the night assault and capture.
On inquiring among the wounded soldiers whose boy this was, Rob was informed that he was the only son of Major Huske; so he gave the little fellow in care of his foster-brother, MacAleister, saying—
"Well, major, turn about is fair play. You took my son—I now take yours. Carry him to Portnellan, Callam, and give him to Helen. Tell her (but it is needless) to keep the little Saxon tenderly, as if he were our own, till such time as we can restore him to his father."
So MacAleister wrapped his plaid about the child, who screamed with terror on seeing the Highlanders; for it was a common belief then in England, and for long after, that they were wont to eat children, like the ogres of the fairy tales.
Rob next ordered the cannon to be spiked and the barracks to be set on fire.
"Alpine, strike up the Brattach Ghael!" said he to the piper, who at once began the "White Banner," a famous pibroch of the Jacobite clans. "By the deed of to-night I shall teach these robber Whigs and truckling Lowlanders to consider well ere again they build a fort on our land; this will be the worst twist in their cow's-horn!"
Rob now gave orders to retire, with the wounded slung in plaids over the shoulders of their comrades, who applied handfuls of nettles to stop the bleeding of cuts and stabs; and the retreating MacGregors saw the flames of the burning barrack and fort rising like a pyramid of fire above the walls, as the daylight stole down the vast steeps of Ben Lomond into its solemn glens and rocky corries.